I Built a Home For You, For Me
by GageWhitney
Summary: At some point, Harvey had realized that he's stopped imagining what his life would be like without Donna and instead started imagining what his life could be like with her.


Title: I Built a Home (For You, For Me)

Author: GageWhitney

Rating: M

Pairing: Harvey/Donna

Disclaimer: Very much not mine.

Summary: At some point, Harvey had realized that he's stopped imagining what his life would be like without Donna and instead started imagining what his life could be like with her.

* * *

At some point – and he's not sure when, exactly, just that it'd happened gradually and naturally and didn't scare him as much as he'd thought it would – Harvey had realized that he's stopped imagining what his life would be like without Donna and instead started imagining what his life could be like with her.

It'd start in his office, he thinks. Late at night, when there's no one around, he'd be watching her straighten up or flick through a stack of papers, and he'd realize there was no way, no way in hell, he could continue on with his life without telling her she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

So he'd say it, just like that, and she'd blink and maybe even laugh at him. She'd try to turn it into a joke. "Of course I am," she'd wink. "I'm Donna. I'm the best."

She'd go back to whatever it was she was doing, and he'd grab her arm, lightly, just enough to make her look up at him and see that he was serious. There'd be a question in her eyes, and she'd start to ask him something – why, are you kidding, are you high – but he'd pull her close and kiss her instead.

His mouth would slant over hers and he'd try to put everything he could into the kiss, his lips and tongue and teeth trying to tell her what had built up inside of him for twelve long years. He thinks she'd probably be hesitant at first, but then she'd sigh and melt against him.

From a time long before, the first and last time they'd kissed, he knows that she'd slide her hands up his chest, her fingers curling against his lapel. She'd let one hand travel up further to the back of his neck, her nails scraping against his scalp and through his hair.

He'd wrap his arms around her back, holding her tightly against his body. She'd be soft and solid and would mold to him like they were made for each other, and he'd smooth his palms down her waist to her hips and over her backside.

The silk fabric of her blouse would be in the way of him being able to feel her skin under his, and he'd start tugging it gently out of her skirt. His palm would feel hot against the bumpy ridge of her spine.

"Wait," she'd say, and pull back to look into his eyes.

"Donna…"

She'd try to read his face, and he thinks she knows him so well that she'd be able to tell he was serious just from that. She'd ask anyway, though. "Harvey, are you sure about this?" She'd frown, and he'd want to kiss her again. "Because we've talked about this before, and once we go down this path, you know we won't be able to come back."

"Donna," he'd say, and he imagines he'd confess it all in that moment. That he'd loved her for longer than he'd realized, that he'd been an idiot, that he'd never want to go back anyway, so she might as well kiss him again.

Her eyes would well with tears, but she wouldn't let them fall. Instead, she'd lean up and press her mouth to his again, and he'd smile against her lips. She'd slide her hands up his chest again, but this time, she'd slip them under his lapels and push his suit jacket off his shoulders.

The jacket would hit the floor, and he'd be so caught up in her he wouldn't even care, his mouth busy exploring hers and his hands trying to snake their way underneath her skirt.

Donna would pull on his tie and make him walk with her, and she'd scoot herself up onto his desk and pull him to stand in between her legs. Her mouth would be hot against his and her fingers would be fast, slipping his tie off his neck and quickly moving to his belt and zipper. He'd be hard, and she'd stroke him through his pants.

He'd push her skirt up until it bunched awkwardly around her hips, and he'd hook his fingers into her panties to pull them down her legs. She'd lift her hips to aid him, but warn him that they were expensive, and could he please be careful with them?

"La Perla," he'd note. "Nice."

She'd grin, her fingers working on undoing his buttons. "I'm glad you like," she'd say. "You bought them."

Idly, he'd promise to buy her more as he tossed them over this shoulder. She'd hum happily and help him push his pants and boxer-briefs down his legs, and then her hands would be on his erection and he'd almost lose it then and there.

He'd let her stroke him a few moments, drowning in the feeling, his hands gripping the table on either side of her legs. Before she could go too far, though, he'd put his hands on her legs and pull her forward, sliding her butt to the edge of the desk.

Their lips would meet again, and he'd move forward until he was pressing inside of her. She'd cry out as he filled her, and he'd be so in love with the sound that he'd immediately pull out and push back into her even harder.

Her nails would dig into the light fabric on his arms, and she'd gasp and moan as he thrust into her again and again, the sharp, metal edge of the desk scraping against his thighs.

Because he's Harvey Specter, and because he's the best goddamn closer in the city, he'd put a hand between her legs, rubbing against her clit lightly until she came apart in his arms. She'd tremble and gasp out his name, and it'd be too much, and he'd follow behind, spilling himself inside of her.

He thinks she'd giggle, after, and he'd lean back to look at her and start laughing, too, because it's them, and it's both ridiculous and perfect at the same time. She'd kiss him, and make a joke, and nothing would be weird between them in the slightest.

They'd get dressed, and he'd take her back to his place, where they'd eat leftover Chinese food from his refrigerator and undress each other all the way this time. Her bra would be La Perla, too, and he'd weigh her breasts in his palms and she'd grind her hips against his, and they'd fall asleep in his bed at way too late an hour for a school night.

Donna would be asleep when he woke up, and he'd stare at her shampoo ad hair against his crisp white sheets until the time came when he'd have to poke her shoulder and remind her that he didn't have any of her clothes at his apartment.

She'd groan, and he'd kiss her shoulder and suggest they play hooky. She's too good of an assistant, though, and she'd remind him of how busy his day was, and how big of a pain in the ass it'd be to reschedule everything. Though, she'd remind him, if she showed up late, he'd need to forgive her, because it'd his fault, anyway.

So he'd help her find her clothes and kiss her goodbye before putting put her in a cab outside his building. He'd go back upstairs and look around his apartment, and he'd think it feels a hell of a lot emptier without her there.

Forty minutes late, Donna would strut into the office, daring anyone to ask where she'd been with just a quirk of her eyebrows. She'd be wearing one of his favorite outfits, and when she turns at her desk to smile slyly at him, he'd grin back and feel his dick twitch in his pants.

He'd take her to dinner that night – not to some fancy, expensive place he'd take clients, but to the hole-in-the-wall tapas place they'd been to a few times that he knows she loves. They'd get drunk on sangria and each other, and he'd tell her again that he loves her, and she'd tell him that she loves him, too.

They'd go back to her apartment this time, and he'd leave her in the morning, and lather, rinse, repeat, until they'd finally clear out drawers and half of their closets for the other one just to make the mornings a little bit easier. They'd be too stubborn, he thinks, to just give up their separate apartments that easily, at first.

Eventually, though, they'd move in together, and it'd be easier to pick out a new place together than try to agree on whose apartment would be a better choice. They'd look at a place with three bedrooms, and with the reality of the future right there in front of him, Harvey would kneel in the middle of their new, empty bedroom and ask her to marry him.

Because she's Donna, and because she's got a flair for the dramatic, she'd jump head-first into wedding planning, walking the very thin line between perfectionist and bridezilla. He'd hear her on the phone with the hotel, reminding them that she may have been born at night, but that it was most definitely not last night, and he'd be unable to hide the grin on his face.

They'd get married on a Saturday in June at the St. Regis, and it'd be understated and beautiful and stylish, just like Donna. She'd walk down the aisle in a flowing white dress, and the whole room would murmur and gasp, and Harvey thinks she'd look about as perfect as any person ever could.

The reception would go all night, everyone laughing and drinking and dancing, and Mike's best man speech would be a perfectly unbalanced mix of funny and utterly sappy. Harvey would clap the younger man on the back and tell him to just go for it, damn it, because Rachel's not going to wait around forever.

Later that night, in the honeymoon suite, he'd carefully remove her fluffy white dress, slipping the layers of fabric down her body and revealing a brand new set of sexy white lingerie. He'd slip the little blue garter down her leg with his teeth before following the path back up with his tongue.

He'd press his mouth to her panties, and then he'd remove those with his teeth, too.

It'd be six or so months after the wedding that she'd surprise him one morning with a cup of coffee in a mug that reads WORLD'S BEST DAD. He thinks he'd probably be in shock at first, his jaw slack and his eyes focused on the word DAD, and he'd look at her teary-eyed face, and he'd get a little teary-eyed himself.

"Are you happy?" she'd ask, and he'd smile and nod and kiss her softly on her mouth.

He'd touch her still-flat stomach, and then he'd lift her shirt and kiss her there. He'd introduce himself to their unborn child, and she'd snort a laugh and call him a dork.

Even though he'd insist throughout her pregnancy that he wants to have a boy, he'd be more than ecstatic when Donna gives birth to his daughter, a little girl with chocolate brown eyes and auburn hair and her father wrapped around her finger.

They'd give her a strong, intelligent-sounding name, like Elizabeth or Katherine or Victoria. Her middle name would be Michelle, and Mike wouldn't be sure if he should consider it a compliment or not that they'd given his name to a baby girl.

The Specters would be happy, he thinks. He would be happy. He'd have a family – a beautiful wife and child, maybe even a house up in Westchester. They'd get a dog, and –

His cell phone chirps, and Harvey jumps, startled by the sound. He blinks and glances at the time, cursing under his breath when he realizes that he's been ignoring his work in favor of fantasizing about a life that isn't his for at least the last ten minutes.

The phone's still ringing, and he glances at the screen.

It's Donna.

Of course it's Donna, he thinks, and there's a kind of stabbing feeling in his chest, the weird notion that he'd lost something profound when the daydream had slipped away from him.

"Hey," he says into the phone.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

He hears her hesitate at the other end. "You called me a little while ago. I'm calling you back." A pause, and then, "It's late, Harvey."

"Oh. Yeah," he says. He'd wanted to ask her if she knew where his Mingus album had gotten to during the move back to his office, but now all he wants is to see her. "Listen, are you busy? Can you come in?"

She sighs, and he can hear her moving around in her apartment. "You're lucky I like you and have no life, Harvey." A drawer opens and closes. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Great," he says. He smiles. "See you soon."

He tidies up his desk, just in case.


End file.
